I grieve to think that Waller's blam'd, br Waller, so long, so justly, fam'd. br Then own your Verses writ in Haste, br Or I shall say, you've lost your Taste. br br Perhaps your loyal Heart disdains br A Poet, who could take such Pains, br To tune his sweet, immortal Lays br To an usurping Tyrant's Praise: br And, where you hate the Man, I see, br You never like his Poetry. br The Truth of this your Verse discovers; br So you abus'd the Conscious Lovers. br br Tho' in your Principles you glory, br The Muses are nor Whig nor Tory: br So from your Sentence they appeal, br Nor will be judg'd by Party Zeal. br Whene'er a Poet's to be try'd, br Let Pope hereafter be your Guide. br ``Survey the Whole, nor seek slight Faults to find, br ``Where Nature moves, and Rapture warms the Mind.